You Found Me (Sterek)
by GatTheCat
Summary: I dunno. Some Sterek with Sterek-y things. It's gonna go sort of slow, but rated M just in case and for language. Pretty much everyone will be mentioned in here, but you know. I suck at writing summaries, so just read. For now, Stiles woke up in Derek's bed... What?
1. Chapter 1 :: Sail

Bordering on consciousness, Stiles snuggled closer to the warm pillows beside him. But something seemed off, his mind sluggishly realized. The pillows were firm, more than firm, unyielding no matter where he touched. There was also a strong scent, like old sweat, blood and the musky scent of the forest. And suddenly, Stiles' mind wasn't so sluggish anymore.

The boy's eyes flew open, and for a moment he took in the stubble-covered face in front of him, not Scott's as he was expecting. Then, his hands flew up into the air and he sat up, pushing himself off the mattress with his feet in a frantic scramble, a shout escaping his throat. Then a pillow hit him in the face and a voice half-moaned, "Shut up!" Stiles held his chest, his shirt grasped tightly in his first. "How- how the hell did I get here?" He asked, breathing heavily. "Uhhhhhg!" The moan was clearly agitated. "Calm down, will you?" Derek said and threw another pillow, this time Stiles ducked. "Yeah," he said, and despite his tone his heart rate was slowing slightly—if not back to normal. "Well excuse me if that a little hard because _I still don't know _what the _hell _happened last night!" (oh you perverts. Not like that.)

It was true, Stiles had no idea what had happened. Honestly, the last thing he remembered was the window of his piece of crap Jeep being crashed into by… something. He knew he'd climbed out of the car and felt something hit him, hard, on the head… He guessed that he'd blacked out after that. Derek made a noise and Stiles was snapped out of his reverie. The noise was a mixture of a huff and a chuckle, but mostly a huff. Stiles folded his arms and leaned against one of the pillars in Derek's place. "There's no need to be such a sourwolf, man." He said, sounding exasperated.

Derek threw another pillow at him. "Seriously?" Stiles said and reached out to catch it, but only actually skimming it with his fingers. He let his fingers drop back down and looked at Derek. "Dude, can you just tell me how I got here?" Derek snorted, and Stiles frowned. "I brought you here," He mumbled, rolling over a little on the mattress. "How else?" Stiles bit his lip. "What about Scott and the others, huh? They okay? And what was that thing? More importantly, why were we sleeping in the same bed?!" Derek let out another moan and pushed himself up. "I thought you were going to ask only the one question." He said and Stiles shrugged. "Blame it on my ADD, baby," he said, quoting AWOLNATION without the slightest hesitation, though the H in his disorder was quite important. Derek gave Stiles a look. "Okay, well Scott and everyone else are fine, I have no idea and I only have one bed." Stile nodded, taking that in for a moment. "Okay, shouldn't you have some idea? And you couldn't have just put me in a corner, could you? Your face isn't usually the first thing I want to see in the morning." Again, Derek gave him a look. "Well, I'm not an alpha anymore, it's not really my job to know," he said, sounding a little like he detested that fact. But then again, it was Derek, he sounded like he detested most things. "And that hurts, Stiles. I just care about you and I didn't want you to hit your head again," he added, his voice filled with mock-injury. "Before you can rip my throat out, that is." Stiles mumbled, and Derek smiled. "Don't forget the part about my teeth, kid." He said, his look somewhat menacing.

"Well, okay." Stiles said decidedly. "I'm outta here." Derek rolled over again, now facing away from the boy. "Fine by me," he sounded pleased. "Your jacket's on the table, your Jeep's outside." Stiles stood and grabbed his jacket off the table he recalled strategizing around many a time and headed for the door. However, when he tried to open it, it wouldn't budge. He struggled for a moment trying to open it, then he kicked it. He let out a small yelp of pain, his heart pounding a little harder in his ears from the exertion. "Stiles…" Derek said. "Could you quiet it down and just go, please? Some of us are trying to get back to sleep from their rude awakening." Stiles glared over his shoulder. "Easier said than done, the freakin' door's stuck." Derek sat up. "Are you _serious_?" He growled and got up, with the surprising speed and agility and most surprising grace that he possessed, he was next to Stiles in a hardly comprehensible time. He too, tried the door but it still wouldn't budge. "Can't you use your crazy superhuman werewolf strength to break it down or something?" Stile said exasperatedly. Derek shook his head. "I chose this place for a reason you know," he told Stiles with a shrug. "It's four in the morning. I don't know about you, but I'm going back to sleep. I'll call Scott in the morning and see if he can figure it out." He turned away from Stiles, and threw himself back down onto the mattress.

Stiles sighed and sat down on the spiral stairs, knowing that he could most definitely not get back to sleep. Not next to Derek, at least. Those fangs that far from his face… he shuddered at the thought. He wondered for a moment if both Isaac and Cora were here, maybe he could sleep in one of their rooms. But no, they'd likely be there, and he didn't particularly like the idea of having to explain that to either of them (but mostly Cora… uhg, Hales.)

So it looked like he was staying there, sitting on the stairs, alone, his head beginning to pound, probably due to the fact that he'd been hit and was running off of only four or so hours of sleep. He screwed his eyes shut and made a slight noise as he leaned against the railing, which wasn't the most comfortable. He scratched at his nose for a moment and then opened his eyes, his thoughts trailing back to Isaac and Cora. They were surely there, and maybe Peter, but Peter said he lived in an apartment downtown so… He wondered if his shout had awoken Isaac and Cora as well as Derek. Probably not, or they'd have had some input of the door. Especially Isaac, the place might not have been small, but Stiles knew he didn't exactly appreciate being locked in anyplace.

When he thought about it, Isaac could have ended up like him. If Isaac's dad hadn't been how he was, Isaac could've been like Stiles, normal, human, afraid to lose his dad like he'd lost his mom. But instead, Isaac was having panic attacks over what his dad had done to him. Stiles felt a pang of sympathy for the other guy, his heart constricting like it were flinching away from a block of ice. But that wasn't all it did, it felt weird, it started beating faster… he couldn't breathe, his vision pulsated as he looked at his shaking hands. Idle thinking, it was too much, especially since it had been who knows how long since he'd last taken his Adderall. Sometimes this happened, if he thought to hard or forced himself to concentrate. He cursed and pulled himself up, not sure what exactly he thought he was going to do. A glass of water, something. He needed something. But, he slipped and his body clanged on the metal stairs before he half-rolled to the concrete floor.

Or, he should have rolled to the floor. But instead of his shoulder being jarred on the hard floor, he was caught by a pair of almost equally hard arms. Despite the fact that it was Derek, he clung to the shirt, trying to pull himself up. Derek pushed him down, so that he was sitting against the wall. A strange look was on Derek's face, concern. Stiles gritted his teeth as he tried to breathe, to calm down. "Can you get out of my face?" He gasped. "Not… exactly helpful." He screwed his eyes shut again and grasped at his chest with one hand, trying to think straight. He dropped the hand and felt around in his pockets, he found his keys with fumbling fingers, but they were of no use to him. Derek was watching him, looking frustrated at his helplessness. Of course he wasn't the most mentally sound, having watched his family burn to death, but he could handle himself… unlike Stiles, who was falling to pieces. Derek felt a dull pang of guilt and sympathy, but it was overwhelmed by the need to do something for him… He was pretty much pack.

Meanwhile, Stiles was still fumbling with his pockets. He had to have his Adderall somewhere, if he could only get his shaking hands in his pockets. He knew that the panic attack wasn't because the lack of drugs in his system, but telling himself that it was gave him a distraction, like Scott with the inhaler. Finally, he got his hand into his pocket and felt the cylindrical shape of the bottle. Forcing himself to pull in a ragged breath, he tried to push the lid off, but his fingers slipped. Derek suddenly got up and half-spun around before disappearing. Stiles leaned his head against the wall, biting his lip and trying to pull himself together. He hit his head on the wall a little, trying to use the pain to kill the anxiety that was clawing at his heart and constricting his lungs. But, due to the bruising that was already there, the pain was more than expected. He let out a whimper almost simultaneously to flinching and pushing the lid off the bottle. A brief moment of relief flashed in his mind as he shook two of the round blue pills into his hand.

And suddenly Derek was back, pushing Stiles hand to his mouth and then a bottle of water. Not expected the sudden need to swallow, (shut the hell up you perverts) Stiles pushed Derek's hand away, coughing and spluttering as water sloshed onto both of them. Derek was again, too close and Stiles turned his head, coughing into his elbow and trying to push Derek away with another hand. "Are you okay?" Derek asked and Stiles turned to face him. "Besides the fact that I think I inhaled half that water bottle, yeah," he said bitterly before coughing to the side again. Derek seemed to relax. "Sorry," he said and Stile glared at him. "Yeah, well a little warning would've been appreciated."

For a moment, they sat in silence. "Well," Derek finally said. "Should we discuss your drug problem?" Stiles glared. "The pills are just a distraction… were! Were just a distraction. Damn it, that sounds… not how I meant it." He said, clearly frustrated. "I have a prescription for those, like said, attention deficit." Derek raised his eyebrows. "Then would you care to explain your raised heartbeat, inability to breathe and shaking hands? Last I checked, those were symptoms of withdrawal." He looked at Stiles expectantly, an intimidating look on him, like most looks on him. Stiles looked away, gritting his teeth. He really didn't want Derek to know… he hadn't even told Scott until it had happened to him as well. "It's Adderall, not meth, Derek." He said, sounding more poisonous than he meant to.

"A drug problem is a drug problem," Derek responded and Stiles let out an aggravated sound. "I don't have a drug problem!" He exclaimed. "They were just a distraction, like the inhaler!" Derek looked at him blankly. "…The inhaler…?" Stiles kicked the wall and immediately regretted it, cursing through gritted teeth. "Nevermind, okay?" He grunted, holding his foot with watering eyes. "You don't scare me." Derek raised his eyebrows again before doing that weird neck-cracking thing and looking at Stiles all wolfed out. He let out a roar and Stiles flinched back. "You just had to do that, huh?" He asked. "You better not go back to sleep if you still want to have the balls to do that when you wake up…" he grumbled. (again, you perverts)

Derek said nothing, staring intently and again, intimidatingly, at Stiles, though he was now human again. Stiles shifted, uncomfortable. He mumbled something that sounded somewhat like "I have high end shoes," but that didn't really make much sense. Derek got closer, breathing on the side of Stiles face and making him flinch. "What?" He breathed, and Stiles pushed him away. "I said I have anxiety issues, okay?! Are you happy now that you've made me say it, huh?" He said, the roles now reversed; with Stiles up in Derek's face.

Derek stepped back. "I…" the word was sticky and frigid in his mouth, frozen there like it was crystalized. Before the crystal had time to melt off his tongue, Derek cleared his throat. "I didn't know." He said, the substituted words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, not metallic like blood, but dry and smoky like ash. Stiles glared at him. "Yeah, that was kind of the point." He said bitterly and added, under his breath, "Asshole."

Stiles seemed angry, and he was, but below the cover of rage, he felt weak… pathetic, worthless. Now Derek knew just how pathetic and worthless and weak he was. He was just a hyperactive kid who couldn't keep himself together and was always left in the dust or was dragging everyone else back. He used to be the one with a plan, he really did… But now he was plan B, if anything at all. He should be able to do better, why couldn't he do better? Derek turned away and he was thankful, as soon as he was able, he slid down the wall. When Derek looked back, Stiles didn't notice, for his head was between his knees and his face was hidden so that no one would be able to see the distraught look upon it.

Derek looked away, doing his best to feel indifferent about Stiles. It was easy enough to feel indifferent about most of his pack, because they weren't so human, so vulnerable as Stiles was. The thing was… Stiles didn't want the bite. Whether it was because he valued his humanity or wanted to overcome the vulnerability on his own… Derek was sure that it was something honorable. Why else would he deny the bite? But, Derek shook his head and flopped back down. It didn't matter. He wasn't an alpha anymore anyways, there was nothing he could offer Stiles. But, no matter how many times he told himself that, he couldn't get himself back to sleep.

Hearing Derek hit the mattress, Stiles lifted his head and let out an unintentional sigh of relief. Derek tried to ignore it, to turn off his super-hearing, to say. But it didn't work. He tossed and removed a pillow from beneath his head and held it over his ears. "Sorry," he heard, the word so soft he wasn't so sure that he hadn't imagined it. Now it was his turn to sigh. "Just shut up," he mumbled. He heard an odd, quiet sound that was a cross between a squeak and another "sorry". God, why was he so… like that? Gritting his teeth a little, Derek pushed the pillow down, almost into his ears.

Stiles didn't like being around people when he was like this. Not anyone. Not Scott, not Lydia… and definitely not Derek. Why couldn't he just go back to sleep, like a normal person? Why did his throat burn and his head ache from just sitting there, from holding back a tsunami of emotion? He wanted to hit something. He wanted to scream to shout… to cry. A primal need was pounding that into his heart with every little, erratic beat. He tried to calm it, to make it quieter… He just wanted Derek to go back to sleep, to not notice how the thin, weary threads holding him together were splitting.

A little cough escaped Stiles throat, but he clasped a hand over his mouth before anything more than that could escape. Derek rolled over, looking at the ceiling for a moment. "Stiles," he said after a moment, and tossed a pillow over. Stiles caught it looking simultaneously hurt, apologetic and perplexed. It was an adorable expression. "Not that I particularly care, but you should get some sleep." Derek did his best to keep his voice monotone. "Before I have to come and smother you," he added the threat, it just seemed a natural part of their relationship.

Derek rolled back over, his conscience somewhat at ease, enough that he could block out the muffled sobs coming from behind Stiles' pillow. Enough so that he could drift back to sleep.

When Stiles lifted his face from the pillow, the sun was rising outside the frosty windows. Seeing the whited-out glass made Stiles shiver as he realized how cold it was. His teeth chattered a little as he wiped tears from his face. Shivering, Stiles looked around for anything, a jacket or a spare blanket... Anything that meant he didn't have to crawl back into that bed with Derek.

But, nothing of the sort met his gaze. He coughed, loudly, and watched to see if Derek would respond. Nothing... _Well,_ he thought. _What's the worst that could happen if I just lay on the very edge?_ It certainly had a better outlook than getting hypothermia. So, reluctantly, he crawled into bed alongside Derek... He smiled a little, it was ironic really. He never had imagined he'd be in bed with Derek, let alone willingly. But it was really freaking cold for him and his 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bone.

A while later, green eyes opened, flashing a little in the sunlight. Derek normally was an early riser, but considering the crap quality of sleep he'd gotten, all he wanted to do was close his eyes and succumb to the warm embrace of the bed. He pulled on the blankets, they seemed to have fallen somewhat off of him… except when he pulled they didn't come. He rolled over, to see Stiles clutching them over his slender form. Derek felt a momentary pang of guilt, he'd forgotten he cold it could get in there at night. Then, noticing the pattern of moles on Stiles' exposed back (his tee-shirt and jacket had scrunched up), Derek extended a finger, gently connecting the dots into some meaningless shape. The moles weren't what he was expecting, but they suited the boy. They added a certain character that just went along with the humor that he had.

Suddenly, the second heart beat in the room spiked. Derek's fingers froze as he realized what he was doing. How the hell was he going to explain that?

Stiles swallowed, his eyes wide. He could feel Derek's hand frozen on his bare back. What exactly was he trying to do? Carefully, he parted his lips and took deep, even breaths, feeling his heart slow. If he could just get Derek to think he was asleep… he could get away.

But, getting away turned out not to be needed, for Derek's fingers fell away and Stiles heard him let out a relieved breath. Stiles felt him roll off the bed and heard his bare feet on the concrete floor. Stiles relaxed and let his eyes slide closed, relief flooding him as well. However, Derek heard the mattress shift slightly and turned, unheard by Stiles. A shout sounded when Stiles opened his eyes, seeing Derek's there in front of him. Derek lifted his hands. "Shut up!" He exclaimed, half-shouting himself. Stiles, of course, did not. "Please don't kill me! I'm sorry I took the blankets and slept in your bed I didn't think you'd mind and it was cold and I' only a hundred and fifty pounds okay?! And yes, I am very afraid of—" and then he was cut off into unintelligible mumbles by Derek's hand, growing louder from behind the barrier. "Just shut up, Stiles!" Derek was frantic, and he wasn't quite sure why. "Stiles, I don't care, I don't want to hurt you, just shut up!" Stiles quieted and looked at Derek with his light brown eyes. Derek pulled his hand away.

Suddenly, the door banged open and Scott stood there. "Oh thank god," Stiles said, pushing Derek away. "I don't know why I didn't get a ride to your place, but next time I am not coming back here or I might have to kill both of your wolf asses." He said and pushed his way past Scott and headed down to go get his Jeep. Scott looked at Derek, his expression confused and a tad horrified. "What did you do?" He asked and Derek half-shrugged before sitting his wolf ass down on the bed. "Honestly, I'm still not sure."


	2. Chapter 2 :: Sail

Stiles walked into his house and threw his keys on the counter. "I never thought I'd be so glad to be home," he mumbled and opened the fridge. He pulled out the carton of milk and lifted it to his mouth, drinking it without bothering with a glass. He closed the fridge and his dad was standing on the other side. He shouted and choked on the milk, which he slammed down on the counter and grabbed at his throat. "Don't do that!" He gasped, finally managing to breathe. "Where have you been?" His dad asked and Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the bruising on the back of his head. He wondered for a moment, whether it was visible. Then, he answered. "I crashed at Scott's, I thought I texted you…" The lie came easy, it was a well-practiced lie. Even though his dad knew about all the werewolf stuff, he figured he didn't need to know all the specifics unless it involved him. "We were studying pretty hard and didn't get much sleep, so I'm just gonna go crash."

"Wait, Stiles," Stiles felt his dad's hand on his arm. "You can tell me anything, you know." Stiles sighed. "I know," he replied and felt a vague twinge of guilt. But he'd hidden these sorts of things from his father for so long to protect him, even if he now knew some of what he'd been through… the less he knew, the better. He shrugged his dad's hand off and headed up the stairs.

Instead of going straight to his room, Stiles detoured into the bathroom. He could almost feel the remnants of sweat and dirt on his skin, like a filmy residue. He turned on the shower and stripped down. Waiting for the water to warm up, he eyed his torso in the small mirror that was above the sink. Like always, he was pale and moley, but unlike always, he had bruises blooming on his right side, peeking up around the left side of his pelvis and from under his hair on the back of his neck. He sighed, thinking about his frail mortality as he stepped into the shower.

A few moments after the water squealed off, bare feet walked across wood floor, sticking slightly as they left damp, steamy footprints that disappeared slowly behind him. Stiles towel was wrapped higher than usual to hide the most of the bruising, he was holding it up mid-chest. However, when he entered his room and turned to his dresser, his heart twinged like it were exploding and he let go of his towel, but caught it again before the other person in his room could be exposed to too much. "Derek!" He hissed, crouched over where he'd caught the towel. "Don't _do that_!"

Derek eyed Stiles, his green eyes lingering for a moment on each of the bruises. "You got hurt," he said, a bit of solemnity to his normally stoic tone. Stiles straightened up, adjusting his towel. "I fell," he replied. "Keep quiet, will you? My dad's here," he added, and moved closer. He didn't want to, but seeing as Derek was standing in front of his dresser it wasn't exactly avoidable. He opened the drawer, bumping Derek with it. He didn't apologize, for he was busy grumbling something unintelligible. He pulled out a plain gray shirt, some boxers and a pair of jeans—considering Derek was there and for who knows how long. "Okay, sourwolf. I am going to go put on some clothes and you are going to stay here and not pull any weird wolfy tricks or let my dad see you or anything like that, get it? Got it? Good." He said as he turned, pointing a finger in Derek's face before practically whirling out of the room.

When Stiles came back, playing with a loose thread on the hem of his shirt, he saw Derek sitting on his bed, looking sour as ever. It was almost like a balloon inside his chest had been popped, relieving the pressure over his heart. However, when he stepped further into the room, it was replaced by an odd twisting sensation. "So, you were at Scott's last night?"

Stiles gazed at his father, open mouthed for a moment before uttering one word. "Hell," he said, looking from Derek to his father. "What's happened now?" He asked, looking at Derek like he hadn't known he was there. "Stiles, I asked him what he was doing here," the elder Stilinski said. "He told me he was just making sure you were alright after last night." Stiles glared at Derek. "Fine, I fell out of my Jeep and hit my head while I was on lookout, are you happy?" He said, his bitter gaze now transferred to his father. "Now can you both just get out and let me sleep?!" He asked, sounding exasperated and his exhaustion suddenly more prominent on his weary face. For a moment, the two others looked at him with slightly softened gazes. But, then static popped on his dad's radio, followed by voices. He was being called down to the station. Derek and Stiles exchanged a look, and Stiles' dad pointed a finger at each of them. "You two, stay here. I will talk to you both later, but I've gotta go." Stiles watching him as he practically fled. "Be careful," he mumbled and went to sit next to Derek. He didn't particularly care that this made three times more than he'd ever wanted to ever be in bed with Derek, he just buried his face in his hands, feeling an ache in his tight shoulders.

"Are you okay?" Derek asked, sounding uncharacteristically concerned. "I'm tired, your face so close to mine… gives me nightmares, you know? Especially since I recall you threatening to tear it off more than once," despite Stiles tone, he didn't raise his head, simply gestured with one hand before cupping it around his forehead again. "Not to mention that whatever the hell we saw last night pushed me out of my Jeep, smashed my window and tried to smash my head. I'm sore everywhere, something just happened and I can guarantee it's connected to that thing and my dad's now in danger and knows I lied to him and I'm gonna have to tell him the truth so that he doesn't get himself killed by accident. So no, I'm not okay." Derek was silent for a moment, and Stiles looked up at him. After an awkward second of silent eye contact, a word fell from Derek's lips. "Better?"

Stiles laughed, so exhausted that he didn't have the energy to put up any more of a fight. "Yeah," he chuckled. "I do, actually." He looked down, seeing his and Derek's knees. "Thanks, by the way." Derek looked at him. "What?" Stiles chuckled again. "I'm serious. For everything, bringing me back to your place, caring… Just thanks."

There was a moment of silence, and then Stiles sighed, with a nervous laughter-like sound. Derek gave him a look, one of blunt question. Stiles shrugged and the silence ensued.

His eyelids beginning to droop, Stiles raised a hand to stifle a yawn. Shit, he was tired. He tried to fight off the waves of sleep, imagining himself as Moses, parting the sea with dramatic swish of walking stick after dramatic swish of walking stick, finally reaching his goal, where the sea was calm around his ankles, the low wash calmly swirling about and tickling his toes. That was when his head dropped to the side, hitting Derek's shoulder.

Derek looked stoically at the boy's head, leaning on his shoulder. His cold, stoic look softened when he saw the closed eyes and the mouth slightly ajar in a peaceful sleep. However much Derek had kept Stiles from sleeping before, it must've been long forgotten because Stiles was out like a light. Derek returned his gaze to Stiles open bedroom door, not cruel enough to wake Stiles despite the position being somewhat uncomfortable.

It was a while of indefinite time before something happened. It could very well have been hours, but it also could've been only minutes, Derek didn't really know. He heard the sounds of someone arriving, Stiles' dad, probably, but his body stiffened slightly just in case. You never knew what was out there, especially since Beacon Hills was now actually a beacon for the supernatural. However, he recognized the Sheriff's footsteps as he walked up the stairs, a moment before he appeared in the doorway. "Okay," his voice sounded but stopped when he saw Stiles on Derek's shoulder. "Can I go now?" Derek asked. "I don't think he'll be saying much."

The Sheriff nodded, looking perplexedly at where Stiles and Derek were touching. Derek held Stiles head as he got up, then let go and Stiles flopped back, mumbling something as he drew an armful of blankets closer. "What?" Derek said, seeing the look on the other man's face. "I thought you two hated each other, that's all…" he said, the look still on his face. "Yeah, well he's less annoying asleep." Derek replied and straightened his jacket, standing next to the window. "Wait," the elder Stilinski said to him. "You guys aren't keeping anything from me… right?" Derek looked at him, not sure what he meant. "Stiles was the one who saw the thing. I just chased it off." And with that, he was out the window.


	3. Chapter 3 :: Sail

Seeing all the kids, the little freshman to the seniors, it was almost as if Stiles could finally breathe properly at the thought of doing something normal. Though he was not yet in the school, his eyes flickered around, scanning for Scott. Stiles hadn't been expecting to find him, but he saw him hanging his helmet from the handlebars of his motorcycle. Stiles ran over and practically jumped him, like always. "Heya Scottie," he said, laughing. "Hey man," Scott replied, trying to give him a normal look. Stiles knew Scott too well, however. "Dude, what's that look for?" Scott looked at him and shrugged a little. "Well, you know, I didn't really see you this weekend…"

"Oh," Stiles got it. "Yeaaaaaah, sorry about that." He began to explain, looking a little sheepish. "I woke up in bed… with Derek… so I was a little freaked out." Scott looked at him, his look even less normal now. "Wait, what?! Why were you in bed with Derek?" Stiles laughed. "That was exactly what I was thinking when it happened." Scott continued looking at him strangely. "Wait, he seriously didn't tell you what happened?" Stiles asked, grabbing Scott and looking deep into his eyes as if he could determine the answer. "I…" If Derek hadn't told Scott, he must've had a reason, right? "I fell out of my Jeep… after I crashed and broke my window." He rubbed the back of his neck, aware that his heartbeat had spiked. Scott gave him that all knowing look. Stiles lifted up his layers to display the yellow and purple bruising all down his side and peaking up over his slender, boney hips. "My neck, too." He said dropping his shirts and reaching up to his neck again. "I was hoping you wouldn't have to find out, but… It's embarrassing."

Scott continued looking at him. "Okay, Scott, what's going on here?" He said and gestured all up and down his best friend. "I mean are you going to say something or…?" Scott shook his head. "You… aren't going to say something?" Stiles asked, and it was his turn to give Scott a weird look. "I can't believe I let that happen… I can't believe I didn't even know." Stiles let out a sigh of relief. "Dude, don't worry. I was the idiot who ran my car into a tree and I probably should've told you, but I'm not that hurt. Just bumps and bruises… mostly bruises."

"C'mon, man, we should go to class," Stiles said and tugged at Scott's sleeve. Scott didn't move. "Man, c'mon, you're freaking me out!" He exclaimed and Scott held up a hand, looking around with eyes that flashed gold for the briefest fraction of a second. Stiles froze, remembering the dark shape soar over him, a giant paw coming toward his face, the pain as it collided with his jaw and his head collided with his Jeep… Scott grabbed him just as the memory stopped replaying in his mind. "What's going on?" He asked, looking at Scott's serious expression.

Despite having to practically drag Scott to class, when they got there, it was Stiles who was itching to get out. Unlike Scott, Stiles was completely unoccupied and unable to focus. While Scott stared at Allison, Stiles stared blankly forward, his knee bouncing up and down and his hands fists on the desktop in front of him.

Suddenly, a barking voice drew him out of his stupor. "Bilinski!"Stiles looked around. "Huh?" He and shrunk back a little when he saw Coach's face much too close to his. "I said," Coach repeated a completely Econ-related question and Stiles shrugged. "I-I don't know." "Pathetic," Coach remarked and asked Danny, who gave him the correct answer… only after the small round of laughter at Stiles had passed through the class, of course. Stiles saw Scott shoot him a sympathetic glance and Stiles just rolled his eyes at his friend, pretending he didn't care. He was used to being laughed at by now. It almost didn't hurt… it only hurt when he thought about it.

Scratching the back of his head and briefly letting his fingers graze the bruising on the nape of his neck, Stiles sighed and leaned forward, trying to stop being so hyperactive and attention deficit. Of course, with ADHD, that wasn't easy… But he'd taken quite enough Adderall; he should've been completely fine.

Despite telling himself over and over to concentrate, Stiles' mind had begun to wander again, without his realization. Things with Derek had been weird since he'd come back. Of course, with Derek, things were never exactly normal, but… this was a different weird. It was almost like tension, but different. Like a brewing storm, though Stiles wasn't exactly sure why he was the one who felt that. After all, he wasn't a werewolf; he didn't get those dog-like feelings. Sometimes Stiles wished that they could all just go back to before Derek had left... things hadn't been okay without him, but he seemed like he was fighting something within now, like he didn't belong here. But, as much as Stiles hated to admit it, when Derek had been gone, no one else really seemed to belong in Beacon Hills either. The whole werewolf, no, the whole pack dynamic was off. Whether or not Derek was an alpha, he was definitely the alpha of the pack.

Stiles sighed and ran a hand through his hair, picking up his pencil in one hand and bouncing it above the desktop. While everyone had seemed lost without Derek's guidance… Stiles was lost as to why that affected him. It clearly did, and if it were just him worrying about Scott or something, but Stiles felt something different than that. Maybe it was not something completely other, but it was something significantly different. Of course, he did worry about Scott and the others (though mostly Scott), but it was something… more than that. Setting his pencil down, Stiles sighed and laid his head down, trying to drown out his thoughts on the cool black desktop and pressing the red out of his eyes.

With his head pressed down and his thoughts barely beneath the surface of the metaphorical waters of his mind, Stiles must've fallen asleep because the next thing he knew he was standing with Scott in the street.

_The cool autumn breeze blew through the streets, stirring some leaves. They rustled into the road and flickered, brown and decayed, around the feet of two seemingly normal people. Someone who actually was normal wouldn't ever suspect that the two of them, with their big black suburban, were actually werewolves. Sure, normal people might be a little weary of them… still, to normal people they were just off, not supernatural. But Stiles knew differently._

_Nonetheless, Stiles didn't care. He stood next to his best friend, pretending that he cared much less… not that they were werewolves, to him, that didn't matter. In fact, he sometimes envied them… even though he could never be one of them. He was Stiles, scrawny, awkward, sarcastic Stiles who fainted at the sight of blood. Stiles, that severely ADHD kid… that's who he was. He was just Stiles the human, and he could never be anything more. It wasn't even remotely possible… not for him. He wouldn't be able to take it._

_Anyways, what Stiles cared about was why they were all standing in the road, barely talking but still exchanging glances that weren't supposed to be meaningful, but were. Derek and Cora Hale had made themselves important, whether they liked it or not, they had made themselves anchors in the lives of the damaged teenagers that were their pack… and Stiles, despite not being part of the pack. _

_Derek and Cora leaving was damn near tragic for the ragtag bunch of them, now only Scott, Isaac, Ethan, Aiden and of course, Stiles. Well, and Lydia, if she counted. Jackson had skipped town a while before, he was now an actual American werewolf in London, Erica and Boyd were dead, Allison was a Hunter (or a Protector now, whatever), Danny had no idea about any of this… And the Hales, they really were at the center of it all… And they were leaving now too. It had a huge impact on all of them._

_But why did Stiles feel so much worse than everyone else looked? A lump was in his throat as his eyes skirted over Cora… he actually had sort of liked her. Then his eyes came to rest on Derek and the lump seemed to expand and cut off his breathing, something that everyone else probably noticed with their super hearing and whatnot. What was there even to say about Derek though? He was the only one who really knew what he was doing, how could he just leave Beacon Hills? Leave them all to fend for themselves? It was horrible._

Just then, Stiles' memories strayed off course and more into the dreams that they were showing in.

_"Derek," Stiles managed to choke out. "I don't understand… How… Why…" He paused, eyes looking hurt. "How could you do this to us?" He asked, his voice no longer choked-sounding. "To me?" Just as Derek opened his mouth to answer, eyes both surprised and hurt, an unwelcome voice interrupted._

"Bilinkski! Bilinski! Bilinnnnski!" Stiles jumped and looked up, once again, at coach's too-close face. "Wassamatter?" He asked, brown eyes wide. "Wake up, sleeping beauty! And pay attention, before I send you out," he barked and Stiles sighed, rubbing his face. What had Derek been about to say… and more importantly, why? Why did Stiles dream saying that? Derek hadn't done anything to him… It didn't make sense.


End file.
